


suddenly i'm on the hook

by redkay



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, non-consensual dating, season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redkay/pseuds/redkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mickey has a one-track mind and Ian is more of an evil genius than he gets credit for (which isn't saying all that much).</p>
            </blockquote>





	suddenly i'm on the hook

This one afternoon Linda has to shut down the store for repairs.

(The flood wasn’t their fault, exactly, except for how it sort of was.

He really doesn’t understand how they haven’t been fired yet.)

Anyway, the store is shut down and they’re sprung loose six hours early and it’s weird.

It shouldn’t be, because he’s spent so much time with the kid in the last few months that he could probably kill him and take his place with no one being any the wiser (which is the plot of Gallagher’s favorite sci-fi book, and yeah, some days Mickey really just wants to drive a fork through his head for listening to this shit).

But it is weird because ever since Ian pulled some voodoo magic to trick that Muslim bitch into paying him for standing around and glaring at people, they’ve hung out pretty exclusively in the shop.

Which is whatever. The store has doors and locks, even if Mickey kind of misses the cool night air on his back and the luxury of a bed.

But now they have none of the above and they’re at a loss.

Mickey should just go home, should see if he can get in on the job Iggy and his dad are planning. He needs the money, because believe it or not, looking menacing doesn’t pay all that great.

But then Gallagher says, “I’ve got an idea.”

Years of listening to his dad rant about Frank Gallagher and his dumbass, motherfucking dildo ideas haven’t been for nothing, and Mickey swears he can feel a chill down his spine. His face twists up in a scowl and he’s about to say something scathing just to see the way Gallagher’s face drops because the idiot can’t keep a single fleeting thought hidden, when Ian clarifies.

“For where we can fuck, I mean.”

So he follows Ian’s lead, lagging a few steps behind, molten ashes marking their path.

They wind up at a cineplex in a relatively nice part of town. The storefronts don’t have bars on them and businessmen eye him suspiciously. 

Ian waits outside the back door, looking this way and that and generally acting suspicious as fuck. It’s sort of endearing how awful he is at this shit, and Mickey briefly entertains the notion of teaching him before he gets himself killed. 

The door opens at last, and a pimply kid Mickey vaguely remembers pushing down the stairs in middle school ushers them inside. 

“Theater seven,” he says and Gallagher actually has the gall to tug Mickey down the hallway, like he’s that stuffed bear Mandy carried with her everywhere when she was six.

The theater is pretty big, one of those swanky ones with two floors that no one he knows ever goes to. Mickey kind of wants to know if Ian’s fucking that pockmarked freak who let them in but it’s not really any of his business. This thing with Gallagher was never exclusive, and just because he hasn’t felt the need to screw anyone else in a while doesn’t mean he wouldn’t if the opportunity arose.

Besides, there are more pressing issues at hand.

It isn’t like Mickey’s particularly modest, but the theater’s not exactly empty. By rough count it’s about a quarter full, with a bunch of old farts and nerdy men who probably live in their parents basements and write odes to their cats. Mickey supposes that’s par for the course for 3:30 showings on a Tuesday.

Ian doesn’t look too concerned though, and as annoying as the kid is, he’s never steered Mickey wrong when it comes to getting laid. He chooses a couple seats in the back and Mickey follows without complaint.

“Stay here,” he says, chancing a sort of apprehensive look at the doors like he thinks Mickey might make a break for it if he’s not watching. “I’ll be right back.”

_Fire alarm_ he guesses as he waits. Setting it off would clear out the people and they could have the whole theater to themselves. They could fuck in every aisle. The lights dim and Mickey shoots a fierce glare at the man who tries to sit in his row.

Ian returns halfway through the fourth preview, arms laden with sodas and popcorn. Mickey’s sort of starting to suspect he was wrong about the fire alarm idea, unless Ian’s really overdoing the alibi.

“You like butter, yeah?”

_Well duh,_ he thinks, grabbing a handful and stuffing them in his mouth. A few kernels fall to the floor and Ian grins at him in that toothy way Mickey hates and bats his hand out of the way.

By the times the lights shut off altogether and the music starts, Mickey’s come to terms with the fact that he’s going to be waiting a bit for the sex. Presumably whatever Ian’s got planned is going down mid-film (and hopefully so is he).

So he sips his Dr. Pepper and tries to ignore the way Ian keeps glancing over at him like he’s some science experiment he’s observing. It’s unnerving, is what it is.

Between the anticipation of getting laid and pretending not to notice Gallagher being a massive faggot, it takes him a few minutes to tune into the action on the screen, but when he does, there’s a faint jolt of recognition.

It’s one of those shitty comic book movies they’ve been making recently, like the whole genre didn’t peak with the cartoons. He vaguely remembers seeing a preview for this one on TV one afternoon before he went to juvie. He and Mandy had argued over which superhero was the best (she’d pushed Captain America, ‘cause she’s an idiot)

Gallagher had been off to the side, smirking and refusing to take sides even when Mandy appealed to him as her fake boyfriend. He remembers feeling sort of vindicated at that, like it meant Ian agreed with him but didn’t want to say it out loud. 

He’d called the kid a pussy and changed the channel, and that was the end of that.

Anyway, it doesn’t suck as much as he expected. It’s almost a little funny, actually, as are Gallagher’s slow motion, aborted attempts to infringe on his personal space. By the time the weird looking god is terrorizing New York, Ian’s almost taken control of half of Mickey’s armrest, but it only takes one good kick to the shin for him to retreat entirely.

“What’d you think?” Ian asks eagerly while the credits roll. Mickey shrugs; he can’t remember the last time he saw a whole movie through that wasn’t a porno, so he doesn’t have much to compare it to. Ian seems to take that as approval though, judging by the way he ducks his head to hide his smile.

The theater empties out slowly, with half the mouth-breathing audience sticking through the credits. Mickey waits with as much patience as he can muster, but when the door closes behind the last straggler a janitor comes in, pushing his cart and glaring at them.

Ian’s looking at him sort of warily, like he’s not sure what the hell Mickey’s doing, and that’s when he realizes that the kid has been standing for the past few minutes, darting glances at the door.

So the sex is probably not happening in this room, then.

All right.

He follows Ian out and into the bathroom. Not the classiest place, but whatever. Maybe this whole thing was like, extended foreplay. Getting Mickey all hot and bothered by hot guys in tights before pounding into him in a dirty stall. 

It’s not like it didn’t work, so he’s not complaining.

Except Gallagher just zips himself back up and walks out, leaving a bewildered Mickey no choice but to tag along.

Soon enough they’re right back where they started: horny and wandering the streets aimlessly.

Ian’s jabbering on about the movie, his favorite lines, and other shit that Mickey doesn’t give a crap about. He’s half hard already from the prolonged wait and hanging a half step behind Ian, watching the stretch of his t-shirt across his deltoids, is not helping.

But all variations of what Mickey wants to say boil down to _‘when is the sex happening’_ and it seems sort of ridiculous to ask three hours after the fact. Besides, Milkoviches don't ask for sex, they demand it. 

He's about to do just that when Gallagher takes a sharp right in the middle of recounting the naked Bruce Banner (which is one of the least useless topics he’s blathered about in the time Mickey’s known him) and it occurs to Mickey that maybe this walk isn’t as aimless as he thought.

Maybe there is a destination still in mind, he just doesn’t know about it. They’re heading back into their neighborhood, so maybe Gallagher was just killing time until his family left the house for some dysfunctional, Irish family convention or some shit.

Whatever. 

But Ian stops on Mickey’s corner, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Right,” he says. “Well.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. He can hear his dad yelling at his brothers all the way from here; if Gallagher’s master plan was to fuck in his house, he’s going to be seriously disappointed. 

“Good night, then,” he says at last, shoving Mickey’s shoulder in a gesture that could mean absolutely anything, but probably not _now take your pants off in the middle of this dimly lit street and bend over._

“Good night?” Mickey intends for it to come out menacing and furious but his voice is all high and strangled because he thinks Gallagher might actually be trying to leave him blueballed. 

Ian just grins goofily and runs off, tripping slightly on his too-long jeans. Halfway down the block he pauses, turns around and waves jauntily.

With the glint of his teeth and the persistent _clap-clap_ of Ian’s broken sole hitting the pavement echoing in his mind, Mickey takes the stairs to his house two at a time. His mouth twitches slightly when Mandy asks why the hell he isn’t at work and he thinks _fuck it, there’s always tomorrow._


End file.
